Game Play

by Lynda Aicher

  “Why? What’s so bad with here?”

  He seemed honestly perplexed, and she tried to remember that he’d spent most of his life in the same small town. Her dad had played on a Canadian major hockey team when he was eighteen and nineteen, only to return home after two seasons to his pregnant girlfriend and an assistant coaching spot on the high school hockey team.

  Her mother had lost the baby—her older brother—in her sixth month, and it’d taken her parents another ten years, many rounds of fertility treatments and a difficult birth before she’d finally been born. Their only child who was perfect in their eyes except for that one gender flaw she could never overcome.

  “Nothing.” She sighed and finished her beer, the warm remains bitter on her tongue. Her dad’s silence pushed her to expand her answer. “I just need to explore. I need a challenge. Something new. Something of my own,” she added softly. She met his eyes and spoke with an honesty she usually kept from him. “My entire life has been dedicated to being the best hockey player I could be. And now…” She closed her eyes and swallowed around the lump of regrets and frustration that formed in her throat before she forced herself to look at her dad again. “There’s nothing left to strive for. Nowhere else for me to go. Nothing else to achieve in a sport I’m not ready to abandon but have to.”

  She blinked away the tears that’d crested on the edge of her lids and quickly flagged down the bartender for another beer. Pride kept the tears from falling more than anything else. Was it desperation that had her opening up to her father, or that building need to rid herself of her past?

  Her dad gripped her shoulder. A man’s touch. One he gave his players. “You always knew there was an end to the game. I wish it was different for you. I really do.”

  His touch tightened into a squeeze, and her anger burned. She wasn’t just another kid he coached. Someone he could pat on the back and send on his way after a few choice words of motivation. Maybe it was the beer or her mixed-up head or a bit of that recklessness hanging on that had her saying, “I’m sorry I wasn’t a boy.”

  He jerked back, brows pinched down in a scowl. “Why would you say that?”

  She searched his eyes and found a hurt that surprised her. Uncertainty edged in, but she’d held her belief for so long, it was hard to trust what she saw. She gave a shrug and stared back at the game. “If I was a boy, I could be on a pro team and have that career you’ve always wanted.”

  The din of the bar covered his long silence, but she was acutely aware of every second that ticked by. Why had she said anything? Her leg bounced on the bar rail, and a sick ball formed around the greasy fries in her stomach. She couldn’t look at her dad, afraid to see the confirmation she’d always avoided.

  “Samantha,” he finally said, his tone firm. “Look at me.”

  She released a slow breath, fear and sorrow sitting heavy in her chest, and slowly turned to him.

  “You’re talking crap,” he said, his familiar coaching bluntness shining through to tug a reluctant dry laugh from her. “You’re my baby girl. If I ever wished you were a boy, it was only because then you wouldn’t be dealing with any of this garbage you’re struggling with right now. You’re my daughter, and I hate to see you hurting.”

  Was that really all it was? His gruff insistence said yes, yet years of believing otherwise had the doubts lingering.

  “Have you given any more thought to that professional women’s league?” he asked, moving on. “I’ve researched it more, and it seems like they’ve got a solid following and a few of the teams have some good backing.”

  Her fresh beer helped to wash away a bit of her sour emotions as she let the other topic go. Her dad always meant well, she knew that. He’d raised her the only way he knew how and in the process had shown her how to be a fighter.

  “They still don’t pay a salary or provide any way to survive.” They’d debated this over the holidays. “I have years of schooling yet to get my master’s and doctorate. I can’t delay that just to stay active in the sport.”

  “And coaching?” he continued to push. “Have you thought more on that?”

  “Coaching’s your thing.” She bumped his leg and shot him a smile. “I wouldn’t want to show you up.” Or eventually come to resent the very players she was coaching.

  His deep laugh lightened the mood as they fell back into familiar territory. “You could try.”

  “And watch you pout? No way.”

  “Well, someone has to take over when I retire.”

  “Ha!” She leaned back in her chair and shook her head. “I don’t see that ever happening. They’ll have to drag you off the ice.” It was true. The man was closing in on sixty, and the word retirement had never crossed his lips. He’d be lost without hockey.

  Kind of like her.

  He chuckled his agreement and turned his attention back to the game. The second period had started, and Walters was leading a charge to the Edmonton net. The cheers around them rose as he passed it to Hauke, who slapped it hard toward the goal. The Edmonton goalie swung his arm up, leg kicking out a hair too late. A roar doused the bar when the red light flashed behind the net.

  “Scooore!” someone boomed over the noise.

  Sam raised her arms and cheered along with everyone else. The rush of adrenaline blew past the last of her downer mood and reminded her of yet another reason why she loved the sport. She didn’t have to be playing to enjoy it. When had she forgotten that?

  The puck was dropped and play restarted before the noise around them returned to a normal state. There was still a lot of game left, but the upbeat mood of the fans who packed the bar was contagious.

  She grinned at her dad, nostalgia filling her. Some of her best memories involved scenarios just like this. Different locations, different people around them, but always her and her dad watching their favorite teams play. Her mother had always been a bit weak and prone to illnesses. A state her dad never complained about. He’d just swoop Sam off to the rink so her mom could rest.

  Her dad had been her nemesis and her rock.

  “I love you, Dad.” The admission burst out without conscious thought. Never overly demonstrative, the words felt weighted as they hung before her father.

  He cocked his head, eyes narrowing as a smile grew. “I love you, too.” He winked and turned back to the game.

  Was it really that simple? As imperfect as their relationship was, did love surpass it to make it okay? Or was it only a bandage that provided surface healing to an underlying festering wound?

  Maybe that was up to her to decide.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Tell me why we’re doing this again.” Dylan covered a yawn and bounced from one foot to the other. With the sun still an hour away from shining its warmth down on them, it was damn cold outside. Cold and early.

  Samantha was bent in half, gloved hands flattened to the ground as she stretched her legs. “Endurance.” Her words muffled in her position.

  “I bike for that.”

  She snapped up, her long braid flipping around to thump against her back. “Running works different muscles.”

  He completed his own stretches while he continued to harass her. “Did it have to be this early?” He ran twice a week in the off-season as part of his fitness routine.

  “I have class later.” She flexed up on her toes and did a couple of small hops. “Let’s go.” She swung around and started down the snow-free path that wound through the U of M campus. It was basically empty at that time of the morning except for a few other nutcases like them.

  He sucked in a dose of chilled air, held it in his lungs until the ache ceased then took off after her. Dark moisture-wicking running clothing molded to her sleek form from head to toe, accented by fluorescent stripes that reflected the light. The temptation to complete the entire run two steps behind her had his pace lagging. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her powerful stride and round bottom.

  “Stop staring and get up here,” she called without looking back.<
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  He shook his head, laughing silently, and lengthened his stride until he reached her side. “How’d you know I was staring?”

  She shot him a sardonic look. “You’re a man, aren’t you?” Like that said everything.

  “So does that mean you wouldn’t look at my ass if I was in front?”

  “No,” she admitted, lips quirking.

  He let it go when she didn’t expand. Now wasn’t the time to be contemplating Samantha admiring his ass, or any other part of him for that matter. A woody while running was a bad, bad scenario.

  Her late-night text to meet this morning had been another in a continued series of surprises over the weekend. One he’d had no desire to turn down, even though it was the ass-crack of dawn. The nice Samantha was just as intriguing as the feisty, spitfire one. Maybe it was because he knew exactly how sharp her claws could be.

  Living with Aunt Bea had taught him how tender strong women could be. She’d taken him into her home so he could play hockey in the Dallas leagues, far away from the ranch and all the sorrow that’d clung to it.

  She’d gotten him to practices, stood up to coaches, demanded good grades and planned out his hockey development like a drill sergeant. More than that though, she’d given him the stability and support that’d been missing after his father’s death and his mother’s plunge into depression and alcohol.

  A situation his granddad hadn’t known how to handle. Nor had a seven-year-old Dylan.

  “How do you feel about your playing over the weekend?” Sam’s voice startled him from his thoughts and he thankfully shoved them aside. Her question was asked casually, like their running pace. He wasn’t fooled.

  “Tanick never got past my left side.”

  Her soft chuckle pulled his gaze, and he tracked the clouds that billowed around her face with every exhalation. “I saw that. You overcompensated though.”

  “What’d you expect? If enough people tell me to watch my left side, I listen.”

  “Or you note it and play your normal game smarter.”

  The small part of his Neanderthal brain repeated her statement in a snippy child voice. He sucked in a breath that was too deep for the air temperature and suffered through a small hacking fit. Why was he here again?

  “If Coach O thought it was an issue, wouldn’t he be running drills with you to fix it?” Again she came with the logic. Like he couldn’t parse that out for himself. It still hadn’t stopped him from overcorrecting his play exactly like she’d said. He’d watched the game tapes yesterday and he’d gone too far to protect his left, which had opened his right side. That was the goal that would’ve been if Cutter hadn’t been behind him to catch his mistake and cut off the Edmonton winger.

  He glanced at her as they passed under a light and almost stumbled over his own feet. Her beauty shocked him in that instance. Her lips were slightly parted, red like her cheeks against her pale skin. Little wisps of blond hair curled around her headband, creating an angel-like halo when backlit from the light. It was unexpected for the mundane activity.

  She frowned at him. “Are you okay?”

  “What?” Damn. He focused back on the path, mental lashing ensuing. “I’m fine.”

  He blanked out his mind after that and they finished the rest of the run in silence, the beat of their shoes on the asphalt forming a rhythm with their breathing. Sweat clung to his heated skin when they slowed to a walk. The run hadn’t been super strenuous or long, more like a comfortable warm-up to the rest of the day.

  She coughed, one hard bark that cut through the quiet. “Do you have practice today?” she asked as she rested her hands on her hips.

  “A light one later this morning.” He stretched the hip he’d injured on Friday. A twinge snaked down his groin, and he pressed his fingers there until it subsided. “We usually do no-gear play runs on a game day.” They were at their cars now and he set his palms on his tailgate to get a good stretch down the back of his legs.

  She stepped up beside him and copied his movements. “So what’s the deal with the truck?”

  He looked up at his brown beauty and grinned. “Isn’t she great?” He patted the edge of the gate near a dent he’d made when he’d been visiting the ranch when he was nine and hadn’t been paying attention to where he’d been tossing some horse equipment. “My granddad drove her for over fifteen years before he let me have it. It’s the only truck I remember him driving up ’til then.”

  Instead of answering, she walked down the side, appraising as she went. She did a full loop around the front and back up the other side, head nodding. “You know something?” she said when she’d reached him again. “It is great.” Her smile radiated right into him and chased away the chill that’d crept under his layers of running clothes.

  “There aren’t many people who agree with you.” Most were surprised he hadn’t dumped it for something newer.

  She narrowed her eyes, head tilting. “It means something to you. You should hold on to things that have meaning.”

  She got it. He sucked in a cold lungful of air and managed a nod.

  “So you were really raised on a ranch?”

  Her doubt brought his smile back. He dropped his twang into his voice when he answered. “Over fifty thousand acres of prime Texas real estate.”

  “Wow. Cattle?”

  “And horses.”

  Her brows lifted. “Impressive. I’m surprised you left it.”

  Explaining his need to get out involved more feelings he’d locked away and was one of the reasons he didn’t talk about his family. “There are plenty of people there to run it.”

  “More family?”

  “Aunts, uncles, cousins, long-lost third cousins twice removed—they’re all there.” Her small laughter wove into him and eased the tension that always came when he thought of home. “Generational land has a way of collecting the generations.”

  “Not you though.”

  “Not me.” He parroted her words and managed to keep the bit of longing from his voice. There were times he really wished he could’ve stayed there. “My dad started me playing hockey when I was two. He was from Michigan and was determined to give me something beyond the ranch. The rink became my safe haven after he died.”

  Her smile gentled and she squeezed his arm. “Sorry about your dad.” It was a small gesture, not that demonstrative or unusual, but the sincerity eased some of the long-old pain.

  “It was a long time ago.” He shrugged and stared across the distance, chasing the ghosts from his mind.

  “Wait a minute.”

  He smiled at the confusion in her deep blue eyes as she squinted at him.

  “There was an ice rink near your ranch? Or did your dad build one? People make outdoor ones in the winter all the time here, but that would be damn impressive in the middle of Texas.”

  He chuckled at the marvel in her eyes, more than grateful that she’d let the dead dad bit go. “No to both. The closest rink was over an hour away. I moved in with a great-aunt who lived in Dallas when I was seven and played in the leagues there. I left Texas altogether when I was twelve for the better bantam teams. I only went to the ranch for vacations after that.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “You are full of surprises, Dylan Rylie.” She shivered, tugged her keys out of her pocket and used the fob to unlock her car doors, a standard navy sedan that was a few years old. “Thanks for running with me.” She gestured toward campus. “It’s usually safe, but I prefer to be cautious when it’s still dark.”

  The sky had lightened in the hour since he’d arrived and more people could be spotted on campus, but it had been pretty damn dark and empty when they’d started. “You don’t usually run alone, do you?”

  “No.” She moved around her car and opened the driver door. “I normally run with one of my housemates, but she’s gone this morning. We still good for tomorrow?” His brain jumped to their scheduled practice session and he nodded. “I’ll see you then. Good luck ton
ight.”

  “What?” he called before she could duck into her car. “No pearls of wisdom for the game?” Her scowl managed to be cute instead of menacing, and he couldn’t help his grin.

  “Stop Detroit from scoring and put the puck in their net.”

  His laugh rolled from his chest and he tipped his absent hat to her. “Duly noted.”

  She shook her head and slipped into her car, slamming the door closed behind her. He stepped back and watched her pull out of the lot with a small wave as she passed him.

  He had no idea what this whole encounter was about, but he’d enjoyed it. A lot. Wanted more of it too. Now he had to figure out how to advance without losing the advantage he’d gained or giving away his game play.

  That would be easier if he had any idea what it was.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Again, tell me why we’re doing this.”

  Sam kept her laugh contained and her smile brief at Dylan’s parroted phrase from yesterday morning. Instead of answering, she led him onto the ice, treading carefully in her boots.

  “What’s this for?” He batted at the rolled-up yoga mat tucked under her arm. “I’ve heard of hot yoga, but the freeze-your-dick-off version is new to me.” She shook her head and bit her lip to keep a straight face. “I don’t think it’s my thing,” he grumbled on. “At least, it doesn’t sound like fun. But then, you only have one mat. Is this like a couples yoga thing? ’Cause I could get into that.”

  Against her better judgment, she was really starting to like this man. The one who laughed at himself and tried to get her to laugh with him.

  She stopped at center ice and laid the mat out. Dylan stood to the side, arms crossed, leg cocked, scowl in place. He’d left his cowboy hat behind but the faded sheep-lined denim jacket looked like he’d walked off the ranch wearing it, right along with the brown cowboy boots. He might play up the cowboy image, but a part of it was too natural to be all pretend.

  “Have a seat.” She waved at the mat.